Sir William Jones and Thomas Day.—­One day, upon removing some books at the chambers of the former, a large spider dropped upon the floor, upon which Sir William, with some warmth, said, “Kill that spider, Day; kill that spider!” “No,” said Mr. Day, with coolness, “I will not kill that spider, Jones:  I do not know that I have a right to kill that spider.  Suppose, when you are going in your coach to Westminster Hall, a superior Being, who perhaps may have as much power over you as you have over this insect, should say to his companion, ‘Kill that lawyer, kill that lawyer!’ how should you like that, Jones? and I am sure, to most people, a lawyer is a more noxious animal than a spider.”

Sir Fletcher Norton was noted for his want of courtesy.  When pleading before Lord Mansfield, on some question of manorial right, he chanced unfortunately to say, “My lord, I can illustrate the point in an instant in my own person:  I myself have two little manors.”  The judge immediately interposed, with one of his blandest smiles, “We all know that, Sir Fletcher.”

The Stocks.—­Lord Camden once presided at a trial in which a charge was brought against a magistrate for false imprisonment, and for putting the plaintiff in the stocks.  The counsel for the magistrate, in his reply, said, the charges were trifling, particularly that of putting in the stocks, which everybody knew was no punishment at all.  The chief justice rose, and leaning over the bench, said, in a half whisper, “Brother, were you ever in the stocks?” “In the stocks, my lord! no, never.”  “Then I have,” said his lordship, “and I assure you, brother, it is no such trifle as you represent.”  His lordship’s knowledge of the stocks arose from the following circumstance.  When he was on a visit to Lord Dacre, his brother-in-law, at Alveley in Essex, he walked out one day with a gentleman remarkable for his absence of mind.  When they had reached a hill, at some distance from the house, his lordship sat down on the parish stocks, which stood by the road side; and after some time, asked his companion to open them, as he wished to know what kind of punishment it was; this being done, the absent gentleman took a book from his pocket, and sauntered about, until he forgot both the judge and his situation, and returned to Lord Dacre’s house.  When the judge was tired of the experiment he had so rashly made, he found himself unable to open the stocks, and asked a countryman who passed by to assist him.  “No, no, old gentleman,” replied Hodge, “you was not set there for nothing, I’ll be bound!” Lord C. protested his innocence, but in vain; the countryman walked on, and left his lordship to meditate for some time longer in his foolish situation, until some of Lord Dacre’s servants, chancing to pass that way, released him.

Hanging Judge.—­Counsellor Grady, in a late trial in Ireland, said, he recollected to have heard of a relentless judge; he was known by the name of the Hanging Judge, and was never seen to shed a tear but once, and that was during the representation of The Beggar’s Opera, when Macheath got a reprieve!